


The Queen in the North

by Jonrya4Life



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Jon/Dany (unrequited), Post E6, jonrya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:17:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonrya4Life/pseuds/Jonrya4Life
Summary: “Daenerys, I will not meet with Cersei until I have seen my home and my sister again. I must return to Winterfell and see my lords. Before I go to King’s Landing.” Daenerys nodded. “If you wish. I will return to Dragonstone and speak with Tyrion.” She squeezed his hand before she left his bedside. “I will look forward to the day I see you again, Jon Snow.”





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Wrote this out of anger, in like forty minutes. It’s bad, I know. I’ll go back and fix it this week. This was not the one I was going to put up today, you'll see that one soon. You can see my thoughts on the episode in my notes at the end. Also, we won’t see Jon and Arya back in Winterfell until Season 8 Episode 1 which means that I will spend a year of my life in torture, but I’ll have everyone’s lovely fics to read until then. Anyway, this sort of picks up at end of episode 6 and is sort of my version of episode 7 as well as story after that. Jon has not “bent the knee.” I also hope you enjoy the wink to the Jaqen/Arya ship even though I don’t ship it. Try to find it.

“Daenerys, I will not meet with Cersei until I have seen my home and my sister again. I must return to Winterfell and see my lords. Before I go to King’s Landing.” Daenerys nodded. “If you wish. I will return to Dragonstone and speak with Tyrion.” She squeezed his hand before she left his bedside. “I will look forward to the day I see you again, Jon Snow.”

 **OPEN THE GATES!** **THE KING HAS RETURNED!** Jon sat on his horse, next to Davos waiting for the gates to open fully. He tried to think where they will all be. _Bran, probably in his room, because of his fall. Sansa, standing on the steps, as when the roles were reversed at Castle Black. And Arya, his beloved sister. She’ll probably be running through the gates as soon as she could fit through them._ Jon smiled at that thought. “What are you smiling at?” Davos asked. “What will happen next.”

Jon dismounted his horse and started walking toward the gate. When the gate was about halfway open, it happened. _I thought you were dead._ I thought you were dead too. _You still have Needle._ Arya was the first one to move. She started slowly, then she broke out into a full out sprint. Jon matched her speed. He reached her and wrapped his arms around her. “Jon,” Arya gasped. “Little sister.” Jon smiled and felt a delight he had not felt in years. She shifted his hair to cover her face before planting a kiss on the side of his neck. She tightened her grasp and did not let her lips leave his skin for several minutes.

When he finally released her, he planted a kiss on her brow. They locked hands and she began to lead him toward the Godswood. “Why the Godswood?” Jon whispered into her hair. “Bran has something to tell you,” she replied with a monotonous voice.

“I don’t believe him,” Jon said in clear disbelief. “You will when you see the scroll that Father's best friend has to show you.” Jon had an exalted look on his face, thrilled to finally meet Howland Reed. “Howland Reed is here?” “And he brought scrolls from Greywater Watch.”

Jon shook his head. “I was never a bastard. M…” Jon trailed off. “I need to rest before the feast.” Arya frowned. “Sansa can’t know about your parentage until you tell the lords. If she grasped that information, she would use it to overthrow your rule. She’s always wanted to be queen.” Jon grimaced. “Thank you. Arya.”  

Jon plopped down on the furs covering what used to be his lord fath… no, uncle’s bed. _If uncle had told Lady Catelyn, she wouldn’t have hated me. To my family, I wouldn’t have been a bastard._ He marveled at the thought. But alas, what is done is done.

“MY LORDS!” Jon’s voice boomed through the great hall. “Many of you will not take this news lightly. In a scroll written by High Septon Maynard, he revealed that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen annulled his marriage to Elia Martell. He then held a secret ceremony in which he married Lyanna Stark.” There were harsh whispers breaking out across the room. “As you all know, my brother, Bran, is a greenseer with immense power. He saw this ceremony and he also saw Eddard Stark defeat Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. After this, Ned entered the Tower to find his lady sister holding a babe, Rhaegar’s babe, at her breast. Lady Stark made him promise to take care of the little boy. Hence, my lord uncle brought the newborn babe back to Winterfell and raised him as his own bastard. And here I stand.”

Chaos descended onto the Great Hall. “MY LORDS!” Jon was forced to raise his voice again. “Aye. I know how you feel. Betrayed, lied to, and ready to proclaim Sansa Queen of the North.” Harsh whispers broke out among the gathered lords. “I was raised as a Stark bastard. I was raised in Winterfell. I have a direwolf. I feel more Stark than Targaryen. And I am still your king. I will never bend the knee to a Southron ruler. Unless you would have it of me. Daenerys Targaryen is going to fight the Night King. But if we are to fight alongside her, I must bend the knee.”

There were choruses of, “You cannot,” and “You will not,” throughout the room. “Your right. Bending the knee is not an option. But marriage is another.” A ripple of roars graced the room. Arya spoke out, “You don’t have to marry her. You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You don’t need to marry her to secure your claim. What you need is to secure the North.” Silence fell over the Great Hall.  “Who do you propose he marry?” Lord Glover asked.

“Lady Sansa will have to acknowledge her marriage to Lord Tyrion. Alys Karstark is married to the Magnar of Thenn.” Arya blushed. “And I am married to no one.” Jon grimaced and forced out the words,” So you propose I marry you.”

Arya blushed deeply now. “Yes.” She composed herself before continuing. “Who else would you marry? Lady Lyanna? You need to marry now if you want the North. A long-term betrothal is not an option.” Jon continued to disagree with his little sister’s idea. “What about Meera Reed?”

“She is a Reed of Greywater Watch! Who do the people and the lords prefer as queen, a girl of a castle no one can find, or a Stark of Winterfell?” Arya asked Jon, but also directing the question to the Northern lords. “She does have a point, Your Grace,” Bronze Yohn Royce spoke out.

Jon could feel himself being backed into a corner. “Arya, you’re my little si-“ “Cousin. I’m your cousin.” Arya clarified. Lady Lyanna stood up and smiled before Jon could say anything. “I believe we have our queen.”


	2. Little Happenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It would mean we would be like Rhaegar and Lyanna. We would be the dragon and the wolf, King and Queen of the North. It would secure the North."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the heartwarming comments on the first one. I wanted to get the second chapter out before I revise the first one, just because I’m hard-pressed for time and I find writing more enjoyable than editing. I also don’t have a beta soooooo. But, I have 3 days of nothing this weekend so I should go back and edit, as well as work on Chapter 3. I’ve recently gone back and started reading some of the first fics on Jonrya on Ao3. They used to come out like, once a month. I could never live with that.

“What were you thinking?” Jon thundered at her after the feast was finished, walking back to his chambers. “I can’t marry my little sister.” _I’m her cousin._ His brain reminded him. _But I used to be her brother._ It was what he would always come back to. _If we had stayed together it would probably have happened anyway, whether we ran away together or we got married in Winterfell._ _Even if we didn’t know it, we loved each other then._ The other half of him argued.

 Arya’s voice snapped him out of his mental argument. “Are you so in love with your _dragon queen_ that you can’t think about securing the largest part of the damn Seven Kingdoms? That you would rather marry her than have the full loyalty of the Northern lords for the war against the others? Half of them would run at the sight of the army of the dead and go south and fight the Lannisters or east to invade Essos. You have lost some of their loyalty just because of your last name. If you go and marry the Targaryen bitch you will no longer have the loyalty of the Vale because of their hatred of the Targaryens and some of the larger Northern houses for the same reason.” She paused to take a breath before whispering. “Marry me, Jon. It’s the only way.”

 _Right, left, block, slash. Left, left, lunge, cut._ Jon had decided to spar, instead of retire to his chambers. “Is it dead yet? You see, we free folk don’t fight people made of cloth and wood. We fight with other people when we want to train.” Jon turned to face Tormund, the wildling holding a jug of ale in his hand. “Yeah? If you’re so damn smart why don’t you tell me what to do?” Jon asked, sparring sword still in hand. “She’s beautiful. A great Northern beauty, coulda been a wildling if she had been born elsewhere. If she was, I woulda fucked her first chance I got.” Jon snatched the ale from his grasp and tossed it to his side. “She’s my little sister Tormund.”

Jon woke late, and thought that he would break his fast on his own. He was surprised to see Arya, still sitting at the table, in the chair next to his. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you here so late, little wolf. I would’ve thought you’d be training.” He mussed her hair and sat in the High Chair. “I was waiting for my cousin.” Jon smiled warmly. “Cousin. I’ll still never get over that.” Arya’s face morphed from a joyous expression to an expression filled with sorrow. “I am so sorry Jon. There was a raven to Winterfell today. One, from the Citadel. Samwell Tarly was found dead just outside of Oldtown. He was leaving the Citadel with a woman and a boy, as well as books from the Citadel on how to fight White Walkers.”

Jon stared down into his food and spoke nothing. After a long silence, he spoke. “We will need to find a new maester for the Night’s Watch. They will need one in the war to come. We shall need to send a…” Jon trailed off as he saw Sansa and Bran enter the room, both with grim expressions on their face.

Sansa spoke first. “Bran has something to tell you Jon,” her voice emotionless, and unmoving. “What, trying to give me another set of parents?” Jon asked, trying to make light of the situation. Arya laughed at the jest but Bran replied, without a hint of humor in his voice.

“No. You have never trusted Littlefinger, and rightfully so. I was looking back to when Father was originally captured, and he was the one to do it. He held a dagger to his throat and said, “I did warn you not to trust me. Sansa has come with a plan. Summon all the lords to the Great Hall, and sentence him to death.” Jon nodded. “Very well.”

“Lord Baelish. Stand up.” Littlefinger obliged to Sansa’s command. “You stand accused of treason and murder. You shoved Lysa Arryn out the Moon Door, do you deny it? You held a knife to my lord father’s throat do you deny it?”

“My queen, I-” Littlefinger was interrupted by Jon. “You have conspired to marry Sansa against her will and place her on the throne of the North and murder me. Do you deny it?”

Arya chimed in before Littlefinger could reply, “You plotted with Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal, do you deny it?” Littlefinger looked around the room frantically, looking for support, but none was shown. “I demand a trial by combat.”

Sansa replied to his demand with ease, not doubting a word of what she spoke. “You will not have-”

“Yes he will. It is a tradition and no matter how bad his crimes were he will have the right to a trial by combat. I name Lady Arya as the champion of the crown.” Jon’s order rang around the Great Hall.

“Are you too weak to fight yourself, Jon _Snow?”_ Littlefinger asked with venom. “I name Ser Gregor Clegane as my champion.”

Lady Sansa replied before Jon could speak. “He is in King’s Landing, how will he fight for you? He will not be named as champion; your champion must be here now.”

Jon cut off Sansa’s remark, “He named Ser Gregor Clegane, and Ser Gregor Clegane will be his champion. Guards, take him to the cells. This meeting has served its purpose.” He rose and left the Great Hall.

 Jon went to the Godswood immediately after. He sat by the pool and sharpened Longclaw, like Ned used to do with Ice. He stared into the pool, thinking what would happen if he did marry Arya. _It would mean we would be like Rhaegar and Lyanna. We would be the dragon and the wolf, King and Queen of the North. It would secure the North, but Daenerys would be furious._ Jon sat there, watching the wind rustle the leaves in the trees, and the sun sink slowly.

Eventually the moon rose, it’s light reflecting off the pool into his eyes. He rose and turned to find Arya standing behind him, leaning against a tree. “How long have you been standing there?” She smiled, slightly embarrassed. “From before the moon rose.” He laughed, the sound ringing throughout the Godswood. “Come here, little wolf.” He grabbed her in her arms and kissed the crown of her head.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can’t get over the stupid show. And every fan, every publisher of articles, every Instagram post, every single thing about the show has Jon and Daenerys in it. Jon and Daenerys this, Jon and Daenerys that, I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT JON AND DAENERYS THIS OR JON AND DAENERYS THAT. There was a part that I thought about putting in the middle of this chapter, then the end of the chapter, but I decided that it would work better at the end of chapter 3. And in the show, Jon isn’t a wolf anymore, yet they title the damned episode the dragon and wolf!


	3. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya spar to Sansa's consternation. Daenerys will be soon be arriving at Winterfell and Jon finally makes a decision on Arya's offer of bethrothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the writing is a little all over the place, I’m very stressed. There’s this nice thing called Hurricane Irma that just absolutely obliterated me. Somehow, I still have power. I wrote most of this the day or two before the storm actually hit. I finished this the morning after, but I'm decided that I should actually clean up and fix stuff before I post this.

A knock was heard at the entrance to Jon’s chambers. It was a sweet, soft knock, one that he recognized to be Sansa’s. “Come in, Sansa.” She opened the door, with a scroll in her hand, and a worried expression on her face. She took the initiative to speak as he remained quiet.

“There was a raven in the night, from Dragonstone. Queen Daenerys is on her way to Winterfell to take you to King’s Landing, to convince Cersei. Of what, I don’t know, but all I know is that I would advise against it. I know Cersei, and I’m telling you that she will set a trap.”

Jon replied with a gloomy, “I must.”

 He said nothing else, inviting Sansa to reply. “So, you are going to go South again and abandon your people? Saying the North will be in my hands won’t work this time, Jon.”

“What did you think about Lord Tyrion?” Jon asked, shifting the focus to her.

“He was very kind. And he wouldn’t do anything without my consent. But that was in the past. Why do you care?” Sansa replied, her brow furrowed.

“You will be wed to him in the Godswood, the day Daenerys arrives. It is crucial to maintain a good relationship between the two camps. Daenerys will propose a marriage between her and I, but I will reject,” Jon said, trying to put the end to the matter, but failing.

“Why? Why don’t you accept her proposal?”

“It’s already done, Sansa.”

Jon’s face was beaded with sweat. He was sparring with Arya; it had been going on for hours, and he had not yet won. Jon had tried every technique he had learned throughout his years, but he could still not beat his cousin.

“One more time?” Arya asked.

Jon poured water over his head and laughed. “You know me too well, little wolf.”

Jon swung first, taking a half step forward with his right foot, but only to find his swing blocked by Needle. He dropped that foot back a full step and pulled held his sword in a defensive position. Arya swung and he pushed his sword forward to block it. As soon as their blades collided she pulled away before quickly cutting at his legs. Jon pointed his sword downwards and held it firmly, deflecting Needle. He spun backwards, before aggressively pulling his sword up to meet Arya’s halfway between them. Jon feinted left, before twirling his sword in his hands and quickly slashing right. Arya, nimble as ever, rolled under Longclaw, and pulled Jon’s legs out from under him, with her hands.

He came up with snow covering his face and lining his pretty hair. He roared playfully at Arya, before launching himself at her. Arya, again, rolled out of his way, leaving him to collide with the ground. They tumbled in the snow for hours, before Sansa came running up to them.

“What are you two doing?” Sansa asked, her voice shrill.

“Having fun,” Arya replied, a sly smile spreading across her face.

“You never care about anything! You never have, ever since we were kids!” Sansa started.

“Don’t, Sansa. What is the matter?” Jon asked, pushing himself to his feet and pulling Arya up with him. He put an arm around her and placed a quick kiss on the crown of her head.

“Lord Baelish is gone. His guards were found dead and two horses taken from the stable.”

“Jon, would you accompany me to the Wolfswood?” Arya asked, hearing, but not caring about what her older sister said.

She had already started to turn around. Jon knew and she knew that he could never refuse her anything. _Maybe I can’t even refuse her the marriage_ ,  Jon thought. It had been the longest he had ever been without giving her something she had asked for. Jon looked at Sansa. “See to it that no one knows about this. Bran says that the raven we received was outdated, and that she will arrive at White Harbor within the week. We should send a raven to Lord Manderly, and have him give it to Daenerys, the scroll saying that Lord Baelish should be arriving at White Harbor within the fortnight. Have her men patrol the surrounding woods and the roads.”

Arya and Jon had walked in silence to the Wolfswood, Arya leading him. She stopped them at a little clearing, one that Jon recognized to be the place that they would always go to as children, if they wanted to talk with no one else having a chance of hearing them. Jon thought back to the night they had spent there together.

_The stars were shining overhead, a half-moon accompanying them. Arya rested her head on Jon’s shoulder. He mussed her hair and whispered into her ear, “We should head back, little sister.”_

_Arya just relaxed even more, throwing her arms around Jon’s torso. “I want to stay here forever,” she said contentedly._

_“What would your mother say?”_

_“I don’t care what she would say. I want to stay here, with you. Go to sleep.” Jon nodded silently and moved so that he was laying on the soft grass. Arya crawled back onto him, and planted kisses all over his face before she closed her eyes. “Goodnight Jon.”_

_Jon woke when the sun was high in the sky the next morning. Jon kissed her brow and mussed her hair. “Good morning, little wolf.”_

_Arya looked up at him, slight irritation showing on her face. “Did you have to wake me up so early?” He laughed heartily and just smiled._

_“We should return, your mother will be worried.” He rose from the ground and reached down to help her up. Arya brushed his hand away and stood up on her own. They walked back to Winterfell, hand in hand. Once they got back to Winterfell, Catelyn rushed to meet them out in the yard._

_“Arya! Where were you?” Catelyn asked in a ferocious voice._

_“Sleeping in the Wolfswood,” Arya replied._

_“I swear, Arya. Never do…” Arya drowned her out and turned toward Jon. She pulled him into her arms and kissed his cheek._

_“And you, bastard,” Catelyn seethed with rage._

_As soon as Catelyn call Jon, bastard, Arya broke. She pulled Jon away and he had to run to keep up with her._

Jon laughed at the memory. “What are you laughing at?” Arya asked, her brow furrowed as to why her brother would break out into laughter; it was unlike him.

“Do you remember when we spent the night here as children?”

“My mother called you bastard when she found out. I didn’t speak to her for almost a week after,” Arya said, a smile creeping onto her face, but it faded as soon as it came. “But that’s not why I came here. I wanted to discuss the details of my proposal. I marry you. Sansa marries Tyrion. You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and Daenerys will have to accept that. You will become King of the Seven Kingdoms, and I will become Queen. Bran will marry Meera Reed and become the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Jon laughed. “I thought you never wanted to be Queen. But I’ll consider it.”

Jon lay restless under his furs after supper. _What is wrong with me? I keep saying no, she is my little sister. But I can’t drop the topic from my mind._ Jon couldn’t keep his mind from revisiting the subject. He just hoped it would fade away, and no one would remember or care. Jon fell off into a light sleep. Waking at various points to the lightest noise, the barking of a dog, the howling of his direwolf, not sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time. And every time, he kept coming back to the marriage proposal. He woke to footsteps out his door, and eventually, a loud booming clap of thunder. The last time, after the thunderclap, before he drifted off to sleep, he heard a knock to his door.

He slid a knife underneath his covers before answering, “Come in.” The door opened to a little girl, with dark hair, and grey eyes. “Arya,” Jon smiled warmly. “I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. Jon laughed. “And I presume you want me to tell you about warrior queens and dragonriders.” She flung herself upon his bed, and wrapped her arms around him. They laid, side by side. He stared into her face, realizing for the first time how beautiful she was. “Father’s parents were cousins,” Jon spoke in a heavy whisper, the wind from his mouth brushing a strand of her hair back over her ear. “My father, your uncle,” she whispered in return. “Jon, I was thinking abou-”

Jon silenced her with a kiss.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please use your imagination to the greatest extent to finish that bit at the end. I really wanted to end it with that line. And yes, they fucked after that. There’s going to be a time jump of about a fortnight for Daenerys to get to Winterfell. I hope you enjoyed! Daenerys POV next.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys arrives at Winterfell to something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t take me a full week to write this. It was only a couple of days. I, however, was busy writing another fic that should be out soon. Daenerys does something very ooc in this chapter, and if that’s not to your liking, don’t read this chapter, but read from Chapter 5 onward. I hope you enjoy.

Daenerys had been convinced by Tyrion to enter Winterfell in a litter, rather than on her dragon. He had thought the lords would not take kindly to it, and that it would fail as a show of force. Daenerys, however, had ignored his plan on how to show unity between the two camps. Tyrion had proposed that Daenerys would ask to see the Throne Room, and take Jon’s arm. She had other ideas.

Daenerys had found Jon Snow handsome from the moment she had laid eyes upon him. Brooding, yes, but his looks were what made her love him at first. His slicked back black hair, his short-cut beard, and his build was something she had never seen. She had loved him when he guided her through the cave; she wanted him to recognize their love then. She had loved him when he had given her advice before she repeated the Field of Fire, as Aegon the Conqueror had done before her. She had loved him when she went beyond the wall; she had to save him, she could not bear the pain of losing another man she loved. Daenerys had wanted him on the boat back to Dragonstone, but as she was building and gaining her courage, he had crushed her hopes by asking to return to Winterfell, _alone_.

When they Daenerys climbed out of her litter. It was a great, beautiful litter, worth more than most men at the castle, commoners and nobles alike. The paint was a Targaryen red, but it had silver and gold as well as many other jewels Dany could not name almost hiding the red from onlookers. She was met by a small area, the walls lined with lords and guards. The common people must have been closer to the entrance, because she could only see men who could only be lords and ladies standing in front of her. Daenerys looked at Jon expectantly, hoping that he would bend the knee, and his lords would follow. To her disappointment he just stood there, staring back at her.

This was the part of the plan Tyrion had advised her against. “Jon Snow,” Daenerys started. She heard a muffled laugh at just his name. “My council and I have discussed this at great length, and we have decided this will only be for the good of the North. It will bring the North into the fold with their crowned King still ruling. I propose a marriage between myself, and Jon Snow.”

This was when all the lords broke out into a loud laughter, scorning what she had said. Daenerys turned to look as one of them spoke out to her, “We already have our Northern Queen, and our Southron King.”

Daenerys turned back to Jon with a deeply puzzled expression on her face. She quickly looked at the girls next him. She realized they were his sisters, and he could surely not… could he be betrothed one of them, or both of them? Daenerys heard another lord behind her say with contempt anger, “You are the usurper.”

Dany asked her love, “What is the meaning of this?”

“I was not Ned Stark’s bastard. I was born to Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Lyanna Targaryen, formerly Lyanna Stark. My real name was Aegon Targaryen, VI of his name, heir to the Iron Throne. I am the heir, Daenerys. The lords pounded it into my head. And I am bethrothed to Arya Stark, my cousin.”

“Where is the proof?”

Bran interjected, “You said this to Tyrion before you left to rescue Jon beyond the Wall, ’You told me to do nothing before, and I listened. I will not do nothing again.’”

Daenerys was frozen in place. She tried to speak words but no sound left her throat. Daenerys was not only scared of the thought that she was not queen, but Jon was not hers. She was also terrified of Bran’s powers, and what more he could reveal about her, the countless people she burnt, and all the things she did for self-interest over the good of the people. Dany proceeded to do something that she thought she would never do, let alone for love. She placed her left foot forward, and followed it with her right knee. She placed it on the ground and said, “My King.” Daenerys bowed her head and kept it down.

The rest of her camp did not follow her example. Tyrion, Missandei, Qotho and his Dothraki remained standing. The Northern Lords followed Daenerys’ action. His redheaded sister bent the knee. Daenerys did not see the other pair of feet standing next to Jon kneel. Daenerys sneaked a look up and saw Jon and Arya’s mouths locked together firmly. Daenerys realized she had made a mistake of bending the knee. She had done it in the spur of the moment, to try and make Jon grateful and appreciative of her. But in one quick action, Daenerys had thrown away everything she had worked for, she had left the duty of ‘breaking the wheel’ to her nephew. They had kissed with such passion that Dany knew that she could never have Jon again. As they started to break away, Dany bowed her head again, if not to save the fact from Jon that she had seen them kiss in front of all the lords.

“Daenerys! What the fuck were you thinking? You can’t break the fucking wheel if you aren’t the fucking queen. And don’t tell me you thought that he would love you so much that he would end his betrothal to his beautiful sister for you? He has the claim to the Iron Throne and all he needs is North and he has it with Arya,” Tyrion seethed with rage. Daenerys had at least had the grace to look ashamed. They were speaking in her room, not twenty minutes after she had bent the knee. She had been given humble chambers; all the others had been occupied. When she had entered she had closed the shudders immediately. Daenerys was still adapting to the frigid North, the complete opposite to the sunny Dragonstone and the insufferable heat of Mereen. When she had heard a knock on the door she had hoped with all her being that it would be the man she loved, but alas, it was Tyrion, the hand to the- _He’s not the hand of anyone now, because I bent the knee._

She had let him rant and rave about the aftermath of her impulsive decision. Daenerys defended herself, “I was in shock. I did not expect… I thought he loved me.”

“Hindsight’s a bitch. You should drink more, you would know more.”

“Maybe it will all have been forgotten about by the time the war is over.”

“Doubtful. You must prepare for the feast. It will be the only feast before we ride South to convince Cersei. You must leave a good impression on them for any hope of you actually ever being queen.”

“There is a chance if I marry Jon,” Daenerys replied.

“Not that shit again. Did you see the way he kissed his sister? That’s an egg that you put in the wrong basket. I’ll send Missandei to you and have you get prepared,” Tyrion ended as he left her chambers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! Dany ooc in bending the knee, I know. I also don’t care because I’m the one writing it. Question, should I skip over the feast in a short few paragraphs, or draw it out long and make it an entire chapter? Next is either Arya or Jon POV. I’m not sure yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got some shit. I sprained my right hand. It really hurts. I have my right hand in this weird thing so I’m writing with my left hand, which is very slow. Anywayyyyyyyyy, here is the feast.

Arya was sought out by Daenerys before the start of the feast. Daenerys opened her mouth to speak, but Arya’s words had filled her ears first. “I know you love Jon. I know that you bent your knee in the hope of taking him away from me. When I heard the tales of you in when I was in Braavos, I thought you would be a great queen, and that if we ever met, we could become great allies, and good friends. I was wrong. You are nothing but one of those lovesick princesses in those stories that my sister used to love. He loves me, Daenerys, and I love him. Our betrothal was not the product of a political alliance, it was that of love.” Arya stepped closer to Daenerys, her voice now barely a whisper. “If you try to take him from me, then this will not have a happy ending.”

Arya slinked into her seat just as Jon rose from his to speak to the assembled men. “I would like to thank you all for gathering here today. We are welcoming Daenerys Targaryen to Winterfell.” Jon paused for applause, and Arya barely managed to hold her laugh when none came. “I am also here to announce my wedding to _my love,_ Arya Stark of Winterfell, and from the second night after we return, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Arya could feel Jon’s hand grasp her own, and tug her to her feet next to him. “Fuck propriety,” he whispered.  

Arya read his mind and turned to face her future husband. She stepped into him, her lips colliding with his. Their bodies fit together perfectly. Jon caressed her cheeks as they kissed. They kissed long and passionate, until they broke away, slightly embarrassed; the whole hall had quieted and their eyes all pierced the shield of love that surrounded Jon and Arya.

There was scarce space for dancing in the Great Hall of Winterfell, forcing the guests to find entertainment in words and wine. Arya eyes followed Daenerys, and shoving her own conversation upon Jon when the dragon queen neared her dear brother. Arya first entertained Tyrion, where she would find his voice speak unwanted, and unpleasant words.

“Lady Arya. May I ask you, how did you convince Jon to this match? I would not find him the man to bed a woman who used to be his sister.” Tyrion greeted her, his voice without a hint of cordiality. Arya had not thought the Imp would be so tactless in greeting his future queen. The silver pin that sat abreast from a Targaryen sigil on his opposite chest glinted in the light from the great chandelier that lit the hall. For an instant, Arya could not see; the reflection of the hand shining bright in her dark eyes, the eyes that were a part of both her and her brother.

“The match has been agreed upon, that is all you must concern yourself with. He could’ve been forced by his lords, by his family, by his political gain, or his love and lust for me,” Arya replied, her eye following Daenerys’ movements, her now moving within the vicinity of Jon. _So that’s why her Hand is entertaining my presence. I doubt he would give two shits about me otherwise._

“Lady Arya, I believe-” Tyrion was cut off by a short, but sharp statement from Arya.

“You’re quite right. I believe my presence is needed elsewhere.” Arya bowed curtly, “Lord Tyrion,” and made her way over to her cousin, the disappointment clear in Tyrion’s face.

Daenerys did not notice Arya standing behind Jon. “...broken before. It can happen again. You are a King, and I am a Queen. Surely, we would be a better match.”

Jon replied with a firm, “No.” Arya took pride in this statement from her lover.

Daenerys remained persistent. “Two wives have been taken before. My ancestor…” Daenerys trailed off and lifted her head, startled to see Arya standing behind Jon. “Lady Arya.”

Arya turned her gaze to Jon as he turned to face her. Without thinking, she pulled him to his feet, but he was the one to kiss her. He drew her into a deep and passionate kiss, and Arya could not help but smile at Daenerys when they broke away, the tips of her lips drawn wide. She did not have to search hard to find the envy on Daenerys’ face.

“Shall I remind you, you are not a queen any longer. You bent the knee did you not?” Arya didn’t pause for an answer before continuing. “The North would never back you if Jon doesn’t honor his betrothal, which I believe he has full intention in honoring. And two wives is out of the question.” _Because I would never share my Jon with you._ “Now if you would excuse us, I would like to speak with my _betrothed._ ”

Arya sat down in the seat that Daenerys left unoccupied when she removed herself from their presence. “You are mine, and I am yours.”

“You are mine, and I am yours,” Jon echoed back. Every time Arya would catch Daenerys’ gaze resting upon Jon, she would pull her brother into a kiss.

Arya would wait until Jon’s final speech and toast to drink more wine. “I will be going to King’s Landing with Daenerys to speak with Cersei about joining our forces to face the army of the dead. After the meeting, I will return North to fight. And a toast! To my queen, Arya.”

“TO ARYA!” The hall replied boisterously. Arya noticed the omission of Daenerys.

Arya reached forward and grabbed her glass of wine. She felt there was something off about the wine, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She clinked her glass together with Jon and took a sip. It was a fine Arbor Red, one of the last barrels of it in the North. Only the High Table had access to it at the feast. Arya coughed lightly, not drawing even a wandering pair of eyes. It turned into more. One quiet cough turned into another, and more upon that, until the sound of her coarse cough rang throughout the Great Hall of Winterfell. All the men had fallen silent and stared at her. She felt a hand claw at her purple throat. _My own,_ she realized. “Jon…” she gasped. She tried to say, ‘I love you,’ but words failed her. A darkness seeped into her eyes. A shout from Jon only sounded a quiet whisper in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you asked for a feast, did any of you remember that this is Game of Thrones? Haha. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon. Reviews and Kudos are appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun ending last time. (**Looks around for agreement**) Right? Right? Also, there was a continuity error in Chapters 1 and two, it’s been fixed now.

 

Arya lay on Maester Wolkan’s operating table, Jon’s hand resting where he could feel her heartbeat. It was slow, inconsistent, and faint, but Jon breathed a sigh of relief every time he felt a thump, however soft it may be. His other hand stroked her dark hair. He turned on his wooden stool to face the recently instated Maester of Winterfell, as he entered the room.

The maester bowed his head before he spoke. “The poison was poorly made, Your Grace. By a man whom has never worked with poisons before. It was nightshade, Your Grace.”

“And how did they get this poison, dare I ask, Maester Wolkan?” Jon replied.

“I would not know, Your Grace. It could only be…” Maester Wolkan’s face reddened at Jon’s unspoken accusation. “I would never, Your Grace, I would never.”

“Will she live?”

“Is she breathing?” Wolkan asked. Jon frowned at that. The maester had felt her heartbeat many a times. Jon looked quizzically at the maester, not yet comprehending what the maester was saying.

The maester spoke again before Jon could let his voice be heard. “Then she will live. If the poison worked, she would be having a tomb in the crypts being prepared for her. A properly made nightshade should kill within the hour. And whoever would dare harm her, must have made it himself, without the knowledge of a maester.”

“You are dismissed, Maester Wolkan.”

 _She will live!_ Jon thought with jubilation. _But who would do that to her? The Imp? No. Her Dothraki? Not accustomed to poisons. That servant of hers? It could be. Daenerys herself? Not out of the realm of possibility._ Jon knew she loathed Arya for her possession of him. _Wolkan is too timid for such a thing._

Jon rose from his chair to go speak to Bran. He had an uncanny ability to know these things, and hoped that he would know the answer to this riddle of death. The snow was a pure white in the Godswood, unlike the snow in the courtyards, defiled with dirt from people’s boots and the ground below. The golden brown and auburn leaves from the trees in the Godswood adorned the stark whiteness and added a color to the holy place.

Bran sat in his wooden chair with wheels beneath the weirwood tree, where he spent most of his passing hours. Jon was about to announce his arrival when Bran simply said, “Jon.” He hated that about Bran. He would catch you surprised and speak your name when you didn’t want to be noticed. And Bran was in the Godswood all the time, making it increasingly difficult for Jon to pray in solitude, the way he liked to say his prayers. Ofttimes he would speak his orisons to the old gods, not let them scan his mind for his prayers.

“Bran. I know you have your powers. You can see the past, future, and present. You told me that I was not Jon Snow, but Aegon Targaryen.” Jon laughed to himself. “Such a stupid name. Every damned Targaryen is called Aegon. Why couldn’t I have been named Jaehaerys or Daeron?” _My childhood idol, I might add. To think I’m related to him._ Jon had been attempting to rekindle his relationship with Bran, but not a spark in the fireplace had appeared. They had been close as siblings, but nothing like the closeness Jon and Arya shared. “You know. Arya’s life had an attempt on it. But who? You can answer that question for me.”

“It would take days to find a moment I don’t know the time of or person it surrounds. Tracking the Night King’s progress would be more vital to our survival. You can solve this mystery on your own,” Bran replied, not a hint of empathy in his voice.

“Oh, fuck this,” Jon muttered. If Bran heard him, he didn’t seem fazed.

Jon went back to Arya’s current chambers. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see the Imp standing over Arya’s bedside. “And you are here to finish her off, Imp?” Jon seethed with a rage the small man had seen naught of before.

Tyrion replied, “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m here to make sure she is alive, not dead. Because I’m not the largest of fans of the person who made the poison for her. Oh, did I mention that? I know who poisoned her.”

Jon heaved out a euphoric sigh of relief. This was a start. More that a start, in fact. All he had to do was accept the dwarf’s demand, and her killer’s head would rest on a spike on the battlements of Winterfell. “What is your demand, Lord Tyrion?”

“As you could easily presume, I would’ve if I were you, Daenerys wants Arya dead.” Jon did all he could to refrain from throttling the little man there. “But, she would never dare command it, for fear of being found out. The person who did it, however, they want her favor. They want power.” Tyrion thrust his fist into the air. “I know who it is.”

“Why are you helping me, Lord Tyrion?” Jon quizzed the Lannister.

“Because you’re a good man, Jon Snow. And this murderer threatens my position as Hand. I’ve been acquainted with him before. I do, however, have one demand. Don’t kill Daenerys. It would… it would leave an unsavory taste in the mouths of many.”

“Done.”

“Now, if you would follow me, Your Grace.”

They walked to their destination in silence. Jon had to keep his pace to a slow walk, to match Tyrion’s pace. Jon soon found himself in the area that housed the rooms where guests of the castle made home, currently occupied by Daenerys’ camp. His brow furrowed when they approached Daenerys’ own solar. Jon, however, kept his concerns quiet and allowed the half man to continue leading him.

Tyrion opened the door to her solar, and Jon found a man he had hoped never to see again. Black hair, with grey stripes lining the sides. Wrinkles adorning his forehead, a close trimmed, grey beard, with a light brown mustache of the same length, a mockingbird pin resting upon his collar.

“Your Grace, I…” Littlefinger spoke, but was interrupted by a head, his own, finding its way to the floor. It was a clean cut with Longclaw. Jon turned to face Lord Tyrion and wiped the blood off his Valyrian blade.

“How did you come across him?” Jon asked.

“A short tale, but interesting enough. He rode into our camp with a sellsword, dressed as a knight of the Vale. I came upon him first, and sent for chains. But Daenerys saw us, and she came to greet the cunt. I tried to warn her against him, but she did not listen. She allowed him a chance to prove his loyalty to her, and I assumed this was his plan to gain her trust.”

Jon bowed stiffly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion. And if you would be so kind, allow this head to remain here, for a while.” Tyrion smiled in return, and bid Jon farewell.

Jon returned to his chambers to change out of his blood-stained clothes and into a fresh outfit. He removed fur, his silver chest plate, and his tunic slowly. When at last his chest was bare, he felt cold arms wrap around his chest, and petite breasts press into his back.

“I didn’t know you would be out of his care already.”

Jon could sense her smirk.

“As much as I appreciate the hug, I think we have something more important to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMJ(onrya)!!!!! 200 kudos! Thank you guys so much! This one’s a little shorter, partially because that scene in the show would’ve been a pain in the ass to rewrite. I summed it up in a few paragraphs. Ugh, I hate this chapter. But please still read it. There’s a good part at the end.

They rode to White Harbor in a week. Jon and Arya shared the same tent; they didn’t leave their pre-marriage intimacy a secret anymore.  Jon took her each night until they reached White Harbor. Ghost stayed in the tent as well. They left their tents and horses with the Manderlys and boarded the Dragon Queen’s ship, _The Targaryen’s Justice._ The traveling camp left the castle at nightfall; they timed their departure to allow them to arrive at King’s Landing at the crack of dawn. It was a seven-and-a-half-day trip. The Targaryen and the Stark spent most of their time in their cabin, much to the chagrin of Daenerys.

Davos had remained in the North to rule. He was Jon’s Hand, and the Hand rules when the King is away. Sansa had disliked the notion of a commoner ruling the North in the King’s stead, and found herself more suited. However, Jon quelled her arguments with surprising ease, reaffirming Davos’ position as ruler.

Their boat navigated through the sea of Greyjoy ships in the waters around King’s Landing. They were to meet the rest of Daenerys’ camp at the Dragonpit, where they were also to meet Cersei, and her council. When they landed they split the Northern diplomats from the Targaryen advisors and walked to the Dragonpit. The Unsullied and Dothraki had surrounded the city, a show of force from Daenerys. Jon took Arya’s arm and walked with her to the place of meeting.

After some small talk, mostly taunting by Euron, the Hound carried out the cage containing the wight from Beyond the Wall. The Hound released it and held it by a chain. He had visible fear on his face. The Hound swung his sword and cut the beast in half, before it came back upon its feet. Jon proceeded to demonstrate the effectiveness of fire, Valyrian steel, and dragonglass on the wight. Euron left, in fear, proclaiming everyone should run, and hide on their islands.

Jon turned to face Cersei and hear her statement, “I will agree to this truce, and send my army north, as long as the North chooses no side.”

Jon smiled and replied, “I am on my own side, Your Grace. I am the trueborn child of the married Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, and heir to the Iron Throne. And Daenerys has bent the knee.” Jon bowed curtly.

Cersei did not take long to contemplate her answer. “Then the truce is off.” Cersei stood up and started leaving the Dragonpit, flicking her hand, _follow,_ to Jaime, Qyburn, and her Queensguard.

Shortly after, presumably after an argument with his lover, Jaime returned, alone. “Cersei will not return. She… I will ride North with you.” His expression was torn between distraught and hope.

Jon saw Arya step forward and reply to the Lannister. “Would you like me to… change her opinion.?”

“I would like to be the one to, after the War, of course. I will try to bring as many soldiers North with me as I can, we will ride up the Kingsroad and meet you at Winterfell. Now I suggest you leave this city, now. She has wildfire under the Dragonpit, and is not afraid to use it,” Jaime warned.

“Then we must take our leave. Ride up the Kingsroad and meet us at Winterfell. Do not ride hard, the road will be cold and long. You have no need to conceal your Lannister garb, I will alert my lords to your travel. Carry heavy provisions, we both will need them,” Jon spoke with a truly king-like voice, the way he spoke to his lords.

Jaime thrust out his left hand. Jon jested, “Don’t want me to touch your gold? Afraid I’ll pull it off?” But he, in turn, thrust out his own left hand, meeting Lannister in a short grasp. “We’ll meet again, Ser Jaime.”

Daenerys and her army took a ship to Dragonstone, while Jon and his Northern camp set off aboard _The Targaryen’s Justice._ Their trip was uneventful; no storms hindered their progress, until they came upon White Harbor.

The sky was a stormy grey color, like that of his eyes, and Arya’s. Snow was intertwined of the straw roofs of buildings. The castle was covered in a canvas of white, its towers more like shards of ice than grey stones. Jon and Arya, alone, left the ship in search of an inn. They were to sleep there for the present night, and rejoin the rest of the men outside the city walls.

Jon wore his hair parted, and Arya wore hers braided, as to remain unrecognized by the guests of the inn. “I will need a room me and my lovely wife,” Jon said with false exuberance. The innkeeper didn’t bat an eye at his request, and showed them to a petite room, tiny but comfortable. He thanked the innkeeper, and closed the door.

In an instant, his lips were on Arya’s his right hand pressing into her back, and his left stroking her hair. She responded immediately. Her mouth was warm, the caress of her lips as soft as velvet. His tongue asked permission to enter, and Arya opened her mouth with a low moan.

He pulled back, but only an inch. Their noses still graced each other, his hands still holding her strong. “I don’t think we’ll get any sleep tonight, will we?” Jon asked, teasing, as he brought his lips upon Arya’s once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I was typing the dragon queen’s ship, I had typed the dragon queen’s shit, and I found it really funny. I know this one was short and boring, but I didn’t want to write an extended Dragonpit scene. But that ending... Don't worry. Next chapter will be wedding, then a full chapter for the bedding.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so, so sorry for not updating the past 3 weeks! I become extremely busy in real life with school and my job, as well as getting extremely sick. I'm still very sick, and I don't see myself getting better anytime soon. I tried writing while I was sick, and the level was horrible. Once I'm done being sick, I'm going to be picking up more shifts at work, and I'm going to need to make up all the stuff in class that I missed, as well as exams coming in about a month. I'm sad to say the next update probably won't be for another 2-4 weeks. I enjoy writing this and it pains me to take a break from it. This one is short, as I rather put out a good, short chapter, than put out a chapter after a month or two.

They were traveling along the banks of the White Knife, when snow took them. At first it was light, a simple glaze over the dirt, leaf, and already snow-covered ground. The snow came faster and thicker as hours past, thudding into the ground. Most leaves were painted in a snowy white, no trace of its former colors. Night came, and sleep with it. A restless sleep, nonetheless. Jon’s arms were wrapped around Arya’s shivering body. Even natives of the North could not withstand this much cold. Brienne and Podrick must be laying upon the fire itself. Little Ned Umber, their other traveling companion, Jon’s squire, was awarded his own tent in the return journey. _He’ll be fine in this cold. The Umbers should be used to it now, them so far up North,_ Jon thought.

Jon was nose-to-nose under the blankets with Arya. Her eyes glinted, grey as a rock, him, hard as a rock. Her breath smelt like the charred venison they supped on. He kissed her. Her lips were cracked and rough from the cold. Arya’s nose fit perfectly next to Jon’s. Their faces aligned, their breath mixed. He pulled away.

“Well?” Arya frowned. “You told me it’s how all those wildlings keep warm.” Jon couldn’t help but grin, and pull her petite body back to his.

“We…must…keep going,” Jon forced through clenched teeth. It was the following morning, the sky white from the consistent downpour of thick snow. He spoke if only to motivate himself, to keep going through the blizzard. He didn’t want to be forced to return to White Harbor, and give the Night King another day, or even week’s advantage.

They battled the cold, strong gales, the lashing branches of trees, and the heavy snow bathing the ground in a dirty white, but all Jon could see was black, as the cold stole his consciousness.

Jon woke to a warm fire, a tight squeeze on his hand, grey eyes staring into his own, and fuzzy furs covering his otherwise naked body. He found the woman to be Arya, and the chambers to be Maester Cressen’s patient chambers. A sudden heap of guilt fell over his shoulders. _I left them to come back on their own, with me only coming as a burden. What did it cost them, how many injuries had they suffered on his behalf?_ Jon thought.

“We’ve been here before,” Jon said, a light smile playing on his lips.

“Aye,” Arya affirmed.

“Arya,” he whispered with a short breath, hoarse from the lack of use. “How… How did…” Jon could not formulate a sentence, and had no need too, as Arya understood his thought from only two words.

“Eight days. I would guide you, placed gently on your horse, when we rode, and I would warm your body at night. The storm didn’t begin to relent until we were a two-day’s ride from Winterfell. The others insisted I go ahead with you. That was two nights past. They are yet to return,” Arya said biting her lower lip. “We recently sent a search party for them. But they are…”

And all Jon could do was grimace and grimly nod his head. He threw off his furs and stood before Arya, naked as he was on his name day. She looked down at his hardened manhood. She cocked her eyebrow at him. Jon’s face turned a beet red. He kissed her gently on the lips. Jon held her face close to his, the tips of their noses brushing. “Later. I must tend to Winterfell first, my love,” he whispered, his breath captured by her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this short installment. Like I said in my earlier notes, I'm really busy and sick. I hope you enjoyed this short chapter. (It really pains me to post such a short chapter.)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I didn’t know what to write after the last quote so… I ended the chapter. But anyway, FUCK THE SHOW! FUCK THE SHOW! FUCK JONERYS! FUCK THE SHOW! FUCK EPISODE 7 and FUCK D&D! Apologies if I got carried away but I think you know why. Also, can I get some kudos for that? Pretty please :) I just wrote this to make me feel better. Now, I can’t wait to read more fics until the next book comes out, because they follow the books more than the fucking show does. And I really hope that Winds of Winter comes out before the next seas.


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